


pocket full of sunshine

by guardianoffun



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Episode: s05e06 Icarus, F/M, Fix-It, Found Family, George Fancy is Fine!, bad romance cliches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 22:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20379463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/pseuds/guardianoffun
Summary: 'A jolt of something that might be hope sparks through Morse. He bends, pressing his ear to Fancy’s chest.'Did you know that the power of true love saved George Fancy? because it did, and this is how it went down. An Icarus rewrite that saves our favourite constable. also some soft found family vibes because Morse is Fancy's dad now.





	pocket full of sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by pwoperbrownie on tumblr because their art is awesome and YEAH i had to write them back story to this
> 
> warnings for depictions of blood and gunshot wounds

Fancy was nowhere to be seen. Strange looked perturbed.

“Told him to wait for us, where’s he got to?” Morse heard him mutter as they made their way in, hands all ghosting over firearms, ready. As they made their way down the first dark corridor, glass crunching underfoot. The club is a mess, chairs overturned and bullets in the walls. They pass Ames, and don’t need DeBryn to know he’s dead. 

In the next moment, two things happen at once; Thursday spots Nero, and Morse finds Fancy. Both men are barely moving, and while Thursday stands over Nero, Morse drops down beside Fancy. Nero, Thursday, even Strange’s cries are tuned out because Morse’s gut twists at the sight of the young man sprawled out on the floor. His arms are flung out, chin up to the ceiling. There’s a dark mark over his heart, another on his side, still trickling blood. Morse lets out a strangled noise.

“Fancy?” His hands go to his chest, but his heart tells him they’re too late. But they can’t be, he can’t be dead, he’s only twenty three, he’s not, he can’t be.

“No, Fancy, come on; George!” 

Even Strange seems to think so too because he goes to pull Morse away.

“He’s gone, Morse, don-“ but Morse shrugs his hands off. His fingers knot and he slams them down over Fancy’s heart. There’s a painful jolt and it shoots straight up his arm. Not that he’s given CPR to all that many people but it usually doesn’t feel like he’s broken a finger. He tugs at Fancy’s jacket and it falls open. He gapes when he finds Fancy’s chest somehow clean of blood. There’s a dark mess on his shirt, but no bullet lodged in his heart; there is one in his jacket though. 

Morse’s hands work a lot faster than his brain for once, finding Fancy’s pocket, and within it-

“Is that a-“

“Oh heck,” croaks Strange over his shoulder. It’s a ring box, but one blown to pieces. It falls open in Morse’s palm, and half a ring clatters to the floor. Something else slips from Fancy’s pocket, a small pocketbook stuffed with loose papers, all pinned together with what’s left of the bullet intended for his heart. 

A jolt of something that might be hope sparks through Morse. He bends, pressing his ear to Fancy’s chest. There, if he can tune out Thursday’s pacing and Strange’s cursing, there’s the  _ thump-thump  _ of a heartbeat. Morse lets out a short cry without realising. 

He tugs open Fancy’s shirt, and finds that it’s just the one hole in his side, slow oozing and gory but it’s not in his heart, the boys not dead yet. His romantic heart that Morse had bemoaned only the other day might have saved his life.

The silence of the moment is shattered by movement suddenly as Strange races for the phone and Thursday behind the bar for cloths or towels or something for the bleeding. Morse is left with Fancy, still limp, in his arms and the warring rushes of fear and relief crashing in his chest. Fancy’s not safe yet, by any stretch but he’s not dead yet either. There’s still panic dancing at the edges of his vision, and it’s then that Fancy decides to come to. He lets out a choked sort of noise and blinks up at Morse, whose heart rate spikes.

“George?” He manages. Fancy flashes him a dopey grin.

“Alrigh’ Morse? Wha’s goin’ on?” Morse tries to pull him up a bit, get him upright. Fancy groans a little and lets his head fall back against Morse’s chest. Something about the way he seems to trust Morse so implicitly tugs on Morse’s heartstrings in a way he didn’t think was possible. He realises rather suddenly he might be a little fond of Fancy, and that he very nearly died tonight, and all of it sits quite heavy in his heart. He finds himself choked up out of nowhere.

“You’ve been- you were- what were you doing in here?” He stumbles, then snaps, grip tightening on Fancy as he finishes. Fancy thinks for a moment then nods.

“Got the go ahead, radio said to head in.” Morse stares. “No? Strange told you to stand down.” Fancy nods blearily.

“Yeah and then-“ his voice warbles off into a cry, and his back arches. “Did I get shot?” 

Morse’s voice is thick. “Yes, you moron.” Fancy laughs.

“Explains why it hurts.” His hands come up in an attempt to pat himself down, but instead of the bullet to his stomach he grabs at his chest, where the ring box had been; then he panics.

“The ring!” He cries. “Where’s it gone, oh Morse, is it- I was going to-“ the rising panic in his voice baffles Morse because it isn’t for himself, Fancy’s worried about the stupid ring. Morse finds himself running his hand through Fancy’s hair.

“Fancy, sit still please, just calm down, the ring doesn’t matter-“ Fancy whines.

“But Shirley! I need to tell her, I wrote it down, I need-“ Morse’s hand is sorely tempted to slap Fancy just to snap him out of it. Instead he gives Fancy’s shoulder a squeeze.

“I think she’ll be happy enough you didn’t get yourself killed, now sit  _ still _ would you?” Fancy nodded, sort of, and then with very little warning, slumped again; eyes rolled back and out like a light.

“Fancy!” Morse heard himself cry out. He levered the boy down, lying him on the floor so as to start CPR again, but found himself knocked away by the appearance of paramedics. They heaved Fancy onto a stretcher and Morse all of a sudden found himself kneeling in a puddle of blood, hands trembling and heart pounding. It had all occurred in such a rush, he almost couldn’t quite believe it.

He found himself pulled to his feet by Thursday, a glass of scotch shoved in his hand and told to get it down him. They had a crime scene to see to, once he’d gotten over the shock. He took a few minutes, swallowed down the drink and washed his hands of blood. Then he joined the others in doing their job, and from there the night stretched on till the early hours of the next morning. 

He found himself at the station come two am, standing over evidence bags, including one that held the remains of a very broken engagement ring. He held it between his fingers, turning it over and watching the lamplight fracture through the small stone left in it. It was by no means an expensive ring, it couldn’t be on a constables pay, but there was a beauty to its simplicity, or there would have been were it whole.

Morse was so lost in watching its shine, he nearly missed the soft sound of heels behind him.

“Morse?” Shirley’s voice, soft behind him. He turned his head to watch her move closer, stepping up to his side. “What’s that?” She asked, pointing towards the bag. Morse froze. He wasn’t sure where to start with that one. It felt odd, to be standing next to her, her boyfriends ring in hand whilst she still wore the one they’d been faking with on hers.

He stumbled for his words but found them eventually.

“How much- has anyone told you anything yet?” He asked. Worry flickered over Shirley’s face. 

“About the club shooting? Not much, said there was a man down but-“ he saw her mind tick over, could almost hear it. He dropped the ring back on the table and plunged his hands into his pocket.

“It was Fancy,” her eyes widened at that, the beginnings of a cry on her lips. “Not fatal though, he’s in surgery.” The same mix of emotions he had felt a few hours ago were clear on Shirley’s face.

“I was going to… I could give you a lift?” He offered. There was a moment of quiet, as Shirley leveled her breathing. She pressed her lips tight, closed her eyes and nodded. When she opened her eyes once again, she was smiling a little.

“That would be lovely, Morse. Thank you.” 

* * *

Morse watched through half drawn blinds as Shirley laughed at something Fancy said. He turned his eyes away as she leant closer and they shared a kiss. He paced the corridor, and tried not to think about how differently this night could have gone.

He lost himself again in his thoughts when the door was pulled open. Shirley looked happier now than she had just half an hour ago. She nodded her head towards the bed.

“He’s asking for you,” she said. Morse looked around for a second. “Yes, you Morse, get in there.” She waved her purse at him. “I’m going to see if I can convince anyone to find us some tea, want one?” 

“No thank you,” he said, reaching to hold the door for her. She slipped past him with a nod, and he stepped into Fancy’s room. 

He’d lost some blood, and the bullet had very nearly struck his kidney, but the doctors thought he’d make a decent recovery, barring infections. He lay now, bundled under sheets and bandages, hooked up to the finest morphine the NHS could buy. He waved his hand towards Morse as he slunk over. 

“How are you feeling?” He asked, standing by the foot of the bed. Fancy shrugged.

“Not too bad, all things considered. Wanted to thank you,” he said, holding out a hand. Morse took it, let Fancy shake.

“I owe you a pint, when I get out of here.” Morse snorted. 

“Maybe hold onto it, eh? Save up for something bigger.” He dug around in his pocket, pulling out the bag he had slipped in earlier. He held it out and let Fancy’s clumsy fingers snatch it up. 

Fancy squinted at the shattered remains of what had probably been a few months savings. He cracked a small smile.

“You kept it?” Morse shrugged. 

“Don’t go telling anyone, don’t need them thinking I’m some hopeless romantic.” Fancy was quiet for a while, staring at the ring. Morse carried on.

“I’m afraid the book didn’t fare so well, but if it’s any consolation, I don’t think you need it.” He glanced to the door, down the hall Shirley had walked:

“She likes you,” he ducked his head. “Loves you. Anything you say, it’ll be right.” Fancy turned a little pink at that, half burying his face in his pillows. 

“Thanks Morse,” he said, voice a little drowsy. “Still owe you a drink though.” Morse chuckled, and reached for the lamp by his bed.

“You can get it tomorrow.” He clicked off the light and Fancy barely moved. “Goodnight George.” He said, and Fancy hummed in response. 

As he carefully picked his way out, careful to pull the door to softly, Morse let himself breathe out finally. They hadn’t lost anyone tonight, their little group had stayed intact in fact if anything, tonight he had found himself a friend in it all.

**Author's Note:**

> hope yall liiiiked? we had to save him he is my everything. could be seen as a set up for my first ever teeny tiny endeavour fic lol  this one 
> 
> thank u for reading!! lemme know what yall think!


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